


Unnamed

by zlot



Category: Rod Allbright Alien Adventures - Coville
Genre: Aliens, Bisexual Character, F/M, Introspection, Yuletide Madness, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zlot/pseuds/zlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selima was always doing something wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unnamed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [screamlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamlet/gifts).



> Happy yuletide, screamlet!

Selima was always doing something wrong, even in their youth stage –- she never, of course, did anything terrible, but she was not interested in mental harmony and communal cooperation and all the other high-blown phrases they were raised on. She wasn’t exactly an outcast, just disreputable; after all, their planet never would have survived the troubles if everyone had been so individualistic.

And Flinge Iblik was exemplary, everyone knew –- circumspect, intelligent, group-oriented. He was a credit to the community, and everyone knew he would be selected by the elders for his egg-year’s Mentat delegation.

He shocked everyone when he said he certainly would not go anywhere off-planet without Selima Khan.

“What is the meaning of your condition?” the Chief Kribbik asked him from the dais.

“I do not wish to reply,” Flinge Iblik responded serenely, as was their customary invocation of privacy.

“Are you bonded to the female Selima Khan?” she persisted.

“I do not wish to reply.”

Flinge’s mental sensitivity was such that the delegation group was privately expanded to three, and Selima was sent along with Flinge Iblik and the quiet boy, Ting, whom no one took much note of, but who was said to be quite talented. The community wondered at the elders' choice, but only behind closed doors.

On the transport ship that carried them to the Mentat, Selima turned to her companion and asked him, wryly, “Do you think you have rescued me, Flinge Iblik?”

“Certainly not. I hope to rescue myself from boredom, Selima,” he replied. And she smiled.

*

He was not disappointed. Their community’s adulation for the Mentat should have warned her how closely their strictures had been based on the Mentat’s ways. Time and time again, she clashed, and received chastisement, and raged, and clashed again.

She did not seek comfort from Flinge Iblik; she would have scorned pity. She came to his quarters instead to complain, and he would watch her storm about the small space with a faint smile playing about his lips.  And when she had had enough, she would aim a small barb at him. “Is this why you brought me here?” she would say, or, “I hope you enjoy this display.”

He would always answer in the affirmative, and open his arms, and they would make love as quietly as possible, listening for the sweeping sound of cloaks in the hallway, where the monitors paced, unaware of their heavy-limbed pleasure.

Did he love her? He did not know, and neither did she. When they lay together, their minds were open to each other, and yet the emotions were unnamed and mixed. She was tolerably sure that he needed her, and that was preferable to all else. She was not particularly interested in emotions, but she wanted to be indispensable to someone. To him.

*

How gratifying, then, when she was thrown out, that he immediately began plans for a transfer after his graduation.

“Why should you leave this delightful place?” Selima asked him. “I would hate to deprive you of a long life of the mind in these hallowed halls.”

“I do not wish to reply,” he laughed. 

It was morning, and she was expected to leave on the shuttle within the next few hours, but still she avoided leaving the warmth of his bed.

She looked at Flinge hard, expecting him to avert his gaze, but he never did.

“Selima, you are too modest about your abilities of persuasion,” he said, finally. “You were always right. It is unbearable.”

“So unbearable that you are fleeing to the field of… _law enforcement_ ,” she said, drawing out the last two words for all they were worth. 

“It is a highly respectable profession,” he replied solemnly.

“I think you are likely to meet some true believers during your academy period,” she said. “Very serious people who are very serious about Justice, and Galactic Harmony, and the End of Cruelty.”

Flinge rolled over, close, and pressed his long nose against hers. “I will keep my sense of irony,” he murmured. “I promise.”

“What for?”

He rolled his eyes, and smiled. “For you, Selima.”

*

It was not much of a promise. She realized that later –- something like a year and a half later, when he told her about Grakker.

There was nothing to terminate. What they were to each other had always been unnamed. They were not bonded. He had always been free. Emotions had not been something they ever discussed. They were not fond of emotions, or she hadn’t been; perhaps there was more to Flinge Iblik’s heart than she had taken the time to find out about.

“I congratulate you, friend,” she said, colorlessly. “I had thought, when you mentioned this being initially, that you were not so friendly with him.” 

“We hated each other,” Flinge said bluntly. “And when have you ever known me to hate anyone?”

“Never.” Hatred requires engagement, she said silently. Spectators never hate.

“That should have been my first clue, then.” He smiled, lopsided. “And now things are quite clear, to both of us.”

“A Friskan worm farmer,” she said. “Thank you. It will make a good story to tell at home.”

“You’re going back?” he asked. His brow creased with concern.

“My rescue was not as successful as I thought,” Selima said, standing up. “Thank you for your visit.”

“Selima,” he said, simply. 

She tried to read him. She felt investment, worry, a sense that he wished her well, but no need. She felt a strong urge to run, and keep running.

“Selima,” he said again. “Are you well?”

“I do not wish to reply,” she said.

She left quite calmly. And then she ran.


End file.
